Fatal Exception
by Deb3
Summary: This program is not responding. It may be busy, waiting for a response from you . . .
1. Default Chapter

I didn't really intend for this to be a 2-parter, since it's short (for me) even at one, but I woke up 30 minutes before the clock this morning, too close to it to really have time to get back to sleep, and this is as far as I got in 30 minutes. I'll finish it tonight. This is not to be confused with an actual story, just a short, frivolous, final exorcism of a few very frustrating days at work. If the italics don't carry over, which I expect they won't, just imagine the letter pieces in italics. It will be right on Lonely Road. Laeta, I'll send you another copy. Enjoy the first bite, and computers, I'm not finished with you yet. Part two tonight.

Title: Fatal Exception

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I do not own the CSIM characters. I do, however, own a computer that does all of these tricks almost daily and many, many more. While my patience is greater than Calleigh's, I have promised it ceremonial execution at some future date when I can afford to replace it. Still, I can't complain, since it was free. It was, in fact, snatched from the jaws of the dumpster where a real computer person who knows far more about them than I do was discarding it in disgust.

A/N: This is my answer to my own revenge on computers challenge.

Summary: ". . . not responding. It may be busy, waiting for a response from you."

_Dear Horatio, _

Instantly, the animated paperclip appeared and fastened itself to Calleigh's screen, batting its animated eyes, assured by all of its programming that its cuteness was indisputable. "It looks like you're writing a letter. Would you like help writing your letter?"

"NO!" Calleigh snapped. She clicked on the X with the mouse, and, unrepentant, the paperclip rolled itself into a bicycle and pedaled off the screen. "One of these days, I swear, I'm going to commit clipicide. That thing is just asking for it." She, as well as others, had tried turning the paperclip off, but it resurrected regularly and always inconveniently.

Calleigh collected her scattered thoughts. They hadn't scattered far. The frustration of the congenial but useless paperclip fit in perfectly with the frustration of her mood. She stared at the two words. Was the dear too much? She edged her cursor back up and deleted it, leaving the opening as simply his name. Every ounce of her longed to attach that dear, to claim him as more than her boss, her friend, her hero, her worry, her inspiration, her longing, her frustration, her . . . She took a firm grip on her mind; he wasn't dear Horatio. At least, he was only dear Horatio in her private thoughts. There had been Yelina; there was Rebecca. Four years of watching him, longing, drawn and burned by the fire between them yet afraid to go closer and powerless to turn away. Four years of writing letters after work, with the debate over the dear only gaining volume. She always started with the dear, but most of the time she deleted it. She never sent the letters, though one day, she told herself, she would. She knew she was lying.

At the moment, she had to decide what sort of letter tonight's version was. There were two varieties, the first of which could be summarized as, "Open your eyes, you idiot, and see what we could have," and the second as, "To hell with you. I quit." They both, at the core, said the same thing. In four years, she hadn't yet run out of words.

Calleigh gave a sigh of frustration. She couldn't annihilate him tonight, not even in her thoughts. He had looked so discouraged, so vulnerable when she had left CSI. She'd found him standing in the parking garage, watching Yelina and Stetler leave together, and something about the droop of his shoulders, the extra crinkles around his eyes, made her wonder if he really was regretting what he wouldn't let himself have, or if there was more going on here. He was so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed Calleigh's approach, something quite rare. "You okay, Horatio?" she had asked, then regretted it the second the words were past her lips. She knew what he would say.

Sure enough, he did. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, removed a few of the extra lines around his eyes by pure force of will, and said, "Fine. Just a long day. Are you going home?"

Where did he think she might be going? "Yes. It's high time you left yourself. There's nothing here that won't wait until tomorrow. You've been driving yourself hard all week on that case."

He nodded and then shifted the focus to her, the diversion carried out with the smoothness of long habit. "Nice work on the case, Calleigh. We've got him cold, thanks to you."

"And you," she smiled.

He shared the smile, enjoying with her the mutual satisfaction at taking another criminal off the streets, but he turned the conversation away from himself again. "It was the team. Get some rest tonight, Calleigh; you've earned it. See you tomorrow."

"See you. Goodnight." They went to their separate vehicles, then turned to look at each other for one last glance before driving out of the garage to different destinations.

Calleigh made up her mind. Tonight would be a "why won't you let someone in" letter, one of the gentler but just as heartfelt ones. She started typing and stared at the screen, where the cursor was refusing to follow her. It was totally frozen. She smacked the computer on its side, but nothing happened. "Damn, and I forgot to save, too." Not that there was much to lose yet, but the oversight annoyed her. The computer froze so often that she saved her work at the end of every line, not even trusting autosave. She should have remembered. Nothing quite bothered Calleigh as much as her own inefficiency. Well, almost nothing.

CTRL-ALT-DEL. Three vicious stabs on the keyboard, a tactic that worked about 50 of the time to unfreeze it. The box chose to cooperate, cheerfully telling her that Word was not responding. She clicked to end it, and another box opened. "This program is not responding. It may be busy, waiting for a response from you, or it may have stopped running." Here the screen froze again, her mouse refusing to move and select End. Resigned, Calleigh stomped on the surge protector switch, shutting the computer down in the one way it couldn't refuse.

"It may be waiting for a response from you," she muttered as the computer rebooted. "It's going to get one, one of these days. Make it my fault, why don't you? Somebody seriously needs to rewrite these error messages. Start it out with 'We apologize for our computer's obstinacy and sincerely regret that it has interfered with your day. It is completely our fault. When rebooting is successful, you will receive a 50 gift certificate to compensate partially for your justified frustration.'"

Scan Disk lit up as the computer started. "Because Windows was not properly shut down, one or more of your disk drives may have errors on it. To avoid seeing this message again, always shut down your computer by selecting Shut Down from the Start menu."

"I would if you'd let me, you electronic beast," she snarled. She stalked to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, and the computer was fully rebooted and looking innocent by the time she returned. She opened Word again and, this time, immediately chose to save. "The file 'Horatio' already exists." Yes, of course it did. She had to clean off this disk drive, but she hated to delete anything with his name. No one else ever used this computer; here alone, she could think about him in true privacy. She skimmed the list of documents, named the current one Horatio 168, and started again.

_Dear Horatio,_

Zing! "It looks like you're writing a letter. Would you like help writing your letter?" The paperclip rolled its eyes hopefully.

"NO! I would like for Bill Gates to be haunted by animated paperclips in his dreams." She executed the paperclip, deleted the dear, and returned twice.

_I stood there tonight by my car, looking back at you beside the Hummer, and it suddenly struck me how _

Calleigh frowned. The program had changed font. She selected the whole document and set it back in the same font, then took a sip of tea before she continued.

_how much like that vehicle you are. So powerful, so noticeable in the world, so admirable, yet lonely. There's so much space there, more than is being used. It's like a metal shield between the driver and the others, carrying him through all terrain safely yet behind darkened windows, keeping him apart. So lonely to be the only person in a Hummer, but even when someone is with you, you are alone. You, too, have your shield, Horatio, your_

The font had changed in mid sentence again. Calleigh changed it back.

_your sunglasses of your soul that hide you from the world. Why won't you ever let someone share it? Even Yelina and then Rebecca, you never really seemed to let them in. Why won't you let me inside your sou_

The cursor froze as the computer locked up again. Calleigh hit CTRL-ALT-DEL, and this time, it allowed her to close the program after telling her it was not responding. However, when she opened Word again, the keyboard was suddenly not attached. All mouse functions present, but it would not acknowledge any typing. With a curse, she backed out and shut down. As it shut down, the computer helpfully listed four more programs that were "not responding." Calleigh killed them all in turn. Damn it, it was Horatio who wasn't responding. So much chemistry, the connection so strong that she often thought it was visible, stretching like an anchor between them, holding them both steady through the various storms of life. Yet always, at the point of revelation, he would back away. Maybe he was waiting for a response from her, her mind suggested, but Lord knew, in four years, she had given him everything but a signed invitation. Dignity and her own whispers of doubt insisted on some restraint in their work interactions, but he should know by now that his feelings were shared. Calleigh finished her tea while the computer rebooted, then re-entered Horatio 168.

_soul? Why won't you reach out? It can't be that you don't see it – I've seen that look in your eyes, heard that tone in your voice. You know what there could be, and you never quite push it completely away, but you never claim it. Why, Horatio? What is it that is keeping us apar_

The entire screen went blue. "A fatal exception has occurred." Calleigh abruptly snapped. Even if Horatio wasn't hers, this computer was, and it had been pushing her closer to the edge for months each time it froze in the middle of her baring of her soul, each time that paperclip intruded on the cries of her heart. At least one of her problems, even if a minor one, could be eliminated tonight. She opened the desk drawer, removed her gun, and stepped safely back, taking dead aim on the one word. Fatal.

"You said it yourself, computer," she reminded it, and her finger closed on the trigger with the strength of all of her frustration. The shot was startlingly loud, echoing around the room, and the monitor shattered with a satisfying electronic death-scream.

Behind her, something else shattered, and Calleigh spun, instantly on guard, gun coming up to ready, as Horatio burst through her locked door, his own gun out. "Freeze!" he shouted.

They stared at each other for an eternal second, then mutually lowered their weapons. "Calleigh?" He could always roll an entire question into a name. He looked behind her to the screen, where a few dying circuits still glowed feebly inside, like fireflies, before they extinguished.

"I was executing my computer," she informed him, chin up, shoulders stubborn.

The corner of his lips quirked, and the smile crept up his face to light his eyes. Calleigh standing there in front of him, gun in hand, stubborn determination in every line, was suddenly the most beautiful sight in the world. Calleigh saw the full smile and abruptly was annoyed by it. She looked at the clock. He had no right to be standing there in her living room looking so handsome at 1:30 a.m. and doing nothing more. "Actually, Horatio, a better question is, what are you doing here?"

The smile faded.


	2. Fatal Exception 2

Here's the conclusion of Fatal Exception. Computers, rest in pieces.

Horatio's eyes fell, seeking the escape that his feet were denied. "I was worried about you," he said softly. "I was afraid a criminal or an attacker was in here when I heard the shot."

Calleigh marched past him to where her front door hung drunkenly from its broken hinges. "Heard it clear from your condo, did you? You've got sharp ears, Horatio, not to mention very impressive response time. 911 should take lessons." She straightened the door, propping it against the frame, and a tentative voice crept down the hall outside.

"Calleigh? Is everything all right?"

Calleigh removed the door enough to slide through it and meet the worried eyes of her next-door neighbor, an elderly woman who clutched her bathrobe around her like a shield as she peered out her own door. "Everything's fine, Heather."

Her neighbor wasn't convinced. "I thought I heard a shot."

"I was just, um, watching a war movie. I must have had the volume too loud. I'm sorry I woke you up."

Heather studied the splintered hinges. "Watching a movie?"

Horatio appeared in the doorway behind Calleigh, and his soothing authority effortlessly accomplished what Calleigh's frustrated embarrassment had not. "I'm sorry we disturbed you, ma'am. I'm Lieutenant Horatio Caine of MDPD; I work with Calleigh. I assure you, everything is under control here." Calleigh wanted to kick him. How could he sound so unruffled at the moment? How could he manage to crash through the door of her life repeatedly, jolt her out of her senses, and then a second later still seem in perfect control of himself?

Heather relaxed with every word, automatically responding to that voice, that presence. Her eyes were on Horatio now, not the splintered hinges. "All right. I'll go back to bed then. I was just worried about Calleigh, but I can see everything's fine."

"I do appreciate your concern," Calleigh said, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm sorry I disturbed you, Heather. We'll try to keep the volume down, but if you happen to hear anything else, just remember that we're watching a war movie."

Heather smiled at Horatio, who smiled back at her. As soon as her door had closed, Calleigh whirled and planted her hand in Horatio's chest, shoving him back into the apartment. She turned to carefully prop the door closed behind them. "You haven't answered my question, Horatio, and you're not leaving until you do." She planted herself firmly in front of the exit.

He studied the hinges apologetically. "I'm sorry, Calleigh. I'll pay to have your door fixed."

She sighed, automatically feeling some of her frustration at him start to drain away and resenting herself for it. Even in the more annoyed letters, she could never stay hardened toward him. "I know you will, Horatio. And thank you, by the way. There could have really been something wrong, and I'll take the intention for the deed." He gave her a tentative smile, and she half returned it before she spoke again. "But what were you doing standing outside my door? It's too late for a social call."

He looked at his watch. "I drove by and saw the lights on in your window. I wondered what still had you up. You should have been asleep hours ago."

"So you came up and were just about to knock to see if something was wrong?" She didn't believe him. He was too rare a liar to be skilled at it. He didn't answer, just looked away again, and she suddenly noticed how tired he looked and, like that afternoon, how vulnerable. "You should have been asleep yourself. You were going to go home and get some rest, you said."

Against his will, his eyes found their way back to hers. "You said the same thing."

"I am home, Horatio," she pointed out.

"But not asleep."

"No." She looked back at the shattered monitor. "I had some work to do on the computer, and I got into the most horrible fight with the thing. I hope it fries in computer hell for eternity. I've been meaning to upgrade, anyway." She looked back to catch an odd smile on his face, the smile of someone who knew two sides to a story she only knew half of. "Horatio, would you stop looking so amused about me shooting my computer and tell me what's going on? What were you doing driving around this late?"

The grin widened. "Actually, I was doing some computer work myself, and my computer was being more obstructive than a defense attorney in court. It kept locking up and telling me that Word didn't exist, and then, it was bringing up the clock to reset, but it wouldn't let me reset it. It kept insisting that it was January 19, 1999, but it had to keep that clock screen in front, no matter what window I clicked. I had to dodge around it to see my document – when it would admit that Word was even there, that is."

Calleigh laughed. That one was a trick her own computer had never tried. "It kept the clock setting screen in your way? If mine had tried that, I would have used larger ammo. I was just fighting that stupid paperclip."

Horatio took a step closer, the tension dissolved between them for the moment. "I hate that paperclip. It reminds me of IAB somehow. Mine doesn't always pull the clock trick, but it was worse than usual tonight." He looked at the corpse of her monitor again and gave a lopsided smile. "I hit the limit tonight, too, Calleigh. Like you said, I've been meaning to upgrade it. That computer had been in the shop more often than on my desk the last few months."

Calleigh stared at him, replaying those words and trying to attach a meaning. "You shot your computer, too?" He shook his head. "Let me guess, you put it in the trash – put it there, didn't throw it – then neatly bagged the trash, including a twist tie, and calmly took it out to the dumpster." Couldn't the man just once totally lose control?

His smile widened. "You're absolutely right, but then, after I threw it away, I got to thinking. There's a lot of personal data on that hard drive." Calleigh's jaw dropped with the thought, and she stared at her own CPU, frozen in horror. She had shot the monitor. The soul of her electronic tormenter still lived. Horatio continued smoothly. "They recommend never just throwing one away. Identity theft is big these days, you know. You've got to be sure to remove all of your personal information so it doesn't fall into the wrong hands. So I took it back out of the trash, and then I ran over it with the Hummer."

Calleigh nearly gave herself whiplash as her head snapped around from her computer to Horatio. Her jaw stayed dropped. His eyes were dancing, enjoying her reaction. As well as she knew him, he never had lost the ability to surprise her. "I don't believe it."

"I can present evidence. One computer pancake, Exhibit A. It's a case that would hold up in any court in the state."

She laughed then, picturing the scene. Horatio behind the wheel of the Hummer, carefully lining up his shot, then flattening the obstinate machine with an expression of frustrated embarrassment and embarrassed frustration on his face as he for once let himself lose control and do what he felt like. Wait a minute. She couldn't imagine Horatio totally knocked out of his charade like that just by electronics. And after destroying the computer, he had driven to her apartment in the middle of the night. Could there be a connection? "What were you writing, Horatio?"

He instantly tightened up and retreated into his shell. "Nothing. Just some paperwork." He glanced at her former monitor. "What were you writing?"

"Just a few letters. Everyday stuff. It was the computer that got me annoyed."

He nodded, but his eyes wouldn't meet hers anymore. "Totally maddening, electronics."

"I'm surprised more people don't shoot them. Or run over them, I guess. More people have access to a car."

He started to edge past her. "I'd better be going, Calleigh. You do need some sleep. We have to continue the electronic war in the morning at CSI."

Defeated, she stepped aside, making the exit available to him. There had been only the briefest moment that she thought she had started to see into his soul, but now, all his defenses were up. Once again, he wasn't responding. She must have imagined it. "Yes, we do. Good night, Horatio."

"Good night, Calleigh." He stepped past her, carefully unpropped the door, exited, then propped it just as carefully from the other side. His footsteps echoed his retreat along the hall until he was totally gone. When the sound of him had faded to silence, Calleigh walked across to her desk and picked up her gun, backing up for a shot at the CPU. Identity theft was big these days, after all. You couldn't be too careful. She lined up her aim, admiring the steadiness of her hand, and blinked a few times as she focused on the target.

Behind her, the door hit the carpet with a loud thud, as if the echo of the gun had grown impatient and decided to precede the shot. Calleigh jumped and barely managed to keep from squeezing the trigger in reflex. She turned around, lowering the gun, and stared at a far-from-composed Horatio.

"I'm being a coward. Forgive me, Calleigh, but I've got to say this, and then I'll leave. I was writing you tonight, like I've written you so many other nights, saying all the things I've been afraid to say for four years. That's why that computer was so frustrating. I smashed it, but the frustration was still there, and I decided to come over here to finally tell you everything in person. Only when I got here, I just stood outside your door like a coward. I couldn't make myself knock, couldn't even touch that door until I thought you needed me." His blue eyes, blazing with a direct passion that stunned her, had been riveted to her face throughout this speech, but now, for the first time, they fell, traveling to the gun in her hand. "I see now that I was wrong. You had everything under control, like you always do. You don't need my help or anyone else's. I'm sorry, Calleigh, and I'll never mention this again. Good night."

He turned to leave, but Calleigh's legs wouldn't obey her. Her voice finally unfroze and managed to reach him only because he had stopped to pick up the door. "I was writing you, Handsome." He stopped in mid step, his back to her, one foot off the ground. "I've written to you for four years. I was up to naming my document Horatio 168." The suspended foot slowly touched down to solid balance. He turned toward her, carefully studying her expression to be sure she was not joking. She smiled at him with all the wattage she could put behind it, all she had been afraid to give him, and he smiled in return, gaining reassurance.

"I was up to Calleigh 215," he countered.

"Bet mine were longer, though," she said, taking a step toward him.

He took a step himself, closing the gap. "I guess we'll never know, will we? Mine is a pancake, and yours is a firing range."

"Which reminds me. Hang on a second, Handsome." She spun smoothly and fired a bullet straight into the CPU, then placed her gun on the floor and turned back to face him. "I hate leaving a job halfway done. Identity theft is big these days, after all. You can't be too careful."

"No, you can't," he agreed, eyes twinkling. "In fact, they say one of the best safeguards you can have is to conduct your transactions face to face. Electronics are so unreliable." He stopped his advance but opened his arms, letting the final step be hers. "I guess we'll have to deliver communications to each other directly from now on. Think we can learn to do that?"

"I've always been a quick study," she replied, closing the gap, and this time, there was no error message.


End file.
